


Open Secret

by Ceia



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, POV Multiple, Rating will go up because porn is on the way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 17:16:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30042075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceia/pseuds/Ceia
Summary: Something is going on between Private Strife and Sephiroth, and the people around them are beginning to notice.
Relationships: Sephiroth/Cloud Strife
Comments: 23
Kudos: 82





	1. Chapter 1

The clock tells him there’s only an hour left until his shift is done, so Kunsel figures he’ll push through a couple more reports before calling it for the day.

One of his new duties involves overseeing the training for the SOLDIER Graduation Armament. This means he has to write up the corresponding progress reports at the beginning of each month. Becker, his predecessor, was relieved to simply throw the cadets’ files at Kunsel before leaving, so without a formal handover Kunsel’s had to muddle his way through the process, not that he really minds. Paperwork is less stressful than being out in the field, and he’s looking forward to helping some of these kids out.

The next folder on the pile is for Private C. Strife. Kunsel squints at this familiar name before realising oh, right—Zack’s buddy. Like the rest of the SOLDIER hopefuls, Kunsel doesn’t know Strife all that well yet, but in the handful of times he’s run the drills he’s recognised Strife as a hard worker, if a little reserved compared to his peers.

Kunsel thumbs through Strife’s file to see what Becker had to say about him. Most of these pages are test results and statistics pulled from gym equipment and the virtual training environment. There are some handwritten notes, mostly in the aged reports at the back of the folder after Strife failed to make Third Class, which Kunsel skims over.

_11889_

_… needs to find his voice. Recommend Strife also focuses on his gunmanship (read: AIM!) if he wants to progress, and…_

_12685_

_Physicals inadequate. Distinct lack of team cohesion. Disappointing._

_14737_

_… was abysmal. If Strife stopped punishing himself for making stupid mistakes he would_ _probably stop making them_ _._

Damn. Poor kid must’ve really struggled. Kunsel flicks forward through some of the more recent reports.

_18325_

_Demonstrated quick thinking during the emergency drill, refer to Wednesday’s tactical assignment for mo..._

_19051_

_...elements of leadership. Starting to see some confidence from Strife, although h..._

Aw, that’s better. Zack’d be pleased to see the kid’s improvement. Makes Kunsel wonder who these reports even go to—if they end up on Lazard’s desk to be read properly or blinked at by Heidegger before being tossed back.

Flipping back to the front page, there’s a startled looking headshot of a younger Strife pinned at the top. Kunsel can’t help chuckling at it. Reminds him of the other week in the lounge area, where he’d spotted Zack introducing Strife to the General for what must’ve been the first time. Strife had eyes like fucking saucers on him, and he was standing bolt upright, stilted and awkward and blushing up to his ears when the General shook his hand. Strife’s on the smaller end of the scale anyway but put him in front of the General and that height difference is almost comical. Practically cast a shadow over the guy.

Ahh, man. Kunsel shakes his head. It was actually pretty refreshing to see such vulnerability from Strife, who might’ve improved in training but still lacks the maturity to fully manage his composure in front of his seniors. It’s the kind of vulnerability that usually gets beaten out of guys like Strife long before they graduate into SOLDIER. He can see why Zack’s friends with him: Strife seems like a good kid.

Kunsel plucks his latest statistics from the printouts. Once they’re slotted into the folder, he grabs a pen and mulls over what to write beneath the numbers.

… Huh. Thinking about it, Kunsel had led the training session that same afternoon he’d spotted those three together. For such a somber looking kid, Strife was distinctly happier and more confident that day. He’s been smiling a lot more lately, too. Weird to think that seeing fucking _Sephiroth_ could’ve had that effect, but even Strife’s stats from the last week are better than average.

Well, whatever. At least he’s happy. Kunsel uncaps his pen. 

_20098_

_Strife hitting the mark in physicals, good attitude and team player. Potential candidate for Third Class by the next examination period providing he can build his self-confidence. Nice to see the guy smiling more!_

Satisfied from putting in a good word for Zack’s buddy, Kunsel closes Strife’s file and reaches for the next.


	2. Chapter 2

There’s a mercifully long corridor between Meeting Room 4-A and the Department of Urban Planning. Lazard is grateful for an opportunity to finally stretch his legs, having been stuck in back to back teleconferences all morning. Meetings are a sad fact of life, but Lazard also has to get the work proposed within them done, and there are a million other things on his plate right now both figuratively _and_ literally speaking.

“I just don’t understand how our public sector funding is being split,” he mutters, more to himself than to Sephiroth, who’s walking beside him. “There’s something like two million in the budget that’s being wasted on contractors alone, on all these analysts and consultants—and for what?”

“If we procured someone from finance for one of these meetings then perhaps they would provide some answers.”

Lazard snorts. “That’s a good one. I can’t remember the last time any of them accepted one of my invitations. Think the Masamune might help persuade them?”

“Hn,” is all Sephiroth says to that, a cynical hint of a laugh which tells Lazard what he already knows: expecting any threats to work on Shinra’s financial department, even from a First Class, is a complete waste of time. Still, it’s fun to think about.

“Wish I was able to bat things away that I didn’t want to deal with,” he says, rubbing his temples. “I’ll go back through my emails, see if I’ve missed something in the briefcase.” 

Lazard ends up having a mini rant about the briefcase along with all the other damned spreadsheets he has to trawl through. The other good thing about the long walk to Reeve’s office is that it gives him a few minutes to decompress.

While he does, his eyes are drawn to two cadets walking up from the opposite end of the corridor, carrying their helmets like they’re on their way to lunch. Lazard subconsciously notes that one of them is much shorter than the other and could probably do with a smarter haircut. As they approach, said shorter one brightens up considerably, and his eyes appear to be focused on… Sephiroth?

Sephiroth is politely listening to Lazard but his head inclines towards this young man, who has very blue eyes and, bizarrely, a smile that can only be described as thrilled spreading over his face. It’s—well, Lazard doesn’t want to be unkind, but it’s unusual seeing a cadet look Sephiroth’s way with anything other than distanced respect and a healthy dose of fear. 

What’s even more unusual is to see a cadet openly blushing at Sephiroth like that, but the most baffling thing of all is when Lazard notices the small and, dare he say, _pleasant_ smile which has appeared on Sephiroth’s face too. 

Fully distracted from his rant as the cadets pass, Lazard blinks when Sephiroth actually nods at this blushing young man. The young man immediately nods back, a polite acknowledgement exchanged without words—and then they’re all walking on.

“I’m afraid I can’t relate to your disdain of spreadsheets,” Sephiroth says, as though none of that just happened. “They’re an invaluable tool once you’ve learned the formulas.”

Lazard answers with an intrigued hum. Now that an opportunity has presented itself he’d like to steer away from Sephiroth’s affinity for spreadsheets, and Lazard is far more interested in how he knows this cadet anyway. It’s fascinating that he would make such an effort with someone who isn’t also a First.

“Friend of yours back there, I take it?”

Sephiroth’s sideways smile at him is tighter than the one he offered that young man. 

“Zack’s.” 

“Ah,” Lazard says, because yes, that would explain it. He glances curiously over his shoulder. The cadet jumps and whips around from being caught still looking back at Sephiroth. 

“I wasn’t aware that Zack was involved in the cadets’ training,” Lazard says, with raised eyebrows. Sephiroth remains inscrutably focused on the empty space ahead of them.

“He isn’t. Private Strife was one of Zack’s supporting cadets in Modeoheim. Apparently they bonded over the fact that they’re both originally from the countryside.” 

“Aaah, Cloud Strife, is it?”

“It is.”

“I remember that name from his application. Er, well, that, and the wild hair.”

“Something else he shares with Zack,” Sephiroth says wryly, making Lazard grin.

“Hmm. Maybe Heidegger was onto something when he suggested those mandatory military-style cuts.”

Sephiroth’s eyes narrow at him just enough to have Lazard’s hands lifting in a motion of appeasement. 

“Hey, no need for threats,” he laughs. “I voted against that one.”

“Good to know.”

Private Cloud Strife. Lazard should’ve recognised him. He certainly remembers Strife’s SOLDIER examination results—terrible across the board, probably because he’d been so young when he applied.

“I’m pretty sure Strife is still aiming for Third Class,” Lazard says, vaguely recalling his name among all the other SGA reports. Sephiroth nods.

“He has promise, from what little I’ve seen of his capabilities, though he’d perform better with a sword than the standard issue rifle.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I peer-reviewed a virtual training exercise he had with Zack a couple of weeks ago.”

“I’m sure that didn’t put poor Strife under any pressure,” Lazard chuckles.

“He did well, actually.” Sephiroth then adds in a somewhat drier tone, “Though you can imagine the sort of comments I received from Zack.”

“Oh, no,” Lazard says, as a number of crude quips in Zack’s voice come to mind. “Let me guess. Something along the lines of ‘performance anxiety’?” 

“In addition to calling me a ‘sadistic voyeur who feeds on the blood, sweat and tears of cadet suffering’, yes,” Sephiroth deadpans. “For daring to show an interest in the development of a potential SOLDIER recruit—an interest which Zack himself encouraged.”

Lazard pinches the bridge of his nose. “Zack doing an upstanding job as ever of representing our elite,” he sighs. 

“Strife thinks very highly of him, for whatever that’s worth.”

“Hah. I suppose there could be worse as far as role models go.”

For a moment there’s nothing but the echoing of boots over polished flooring. He should probably drop the subject, but it’s refreshing being able to discuss something lighthearted with Sephiroth and Lazard is still hungry for a reprieve from everything else on his mind—notably the frozen chicken fillets he might’ve forgotten to put in the refrigerator this morning. Hopefully he didn’t just leave them on the counter.

“Looks like Strife thinks very highly of you as well,” Lazard says, shrugging off the sceptical look it earns him. “Based on how pleased he was to see you just now, at any rate.”

“Then it would appear that all of those extensive PR campaigns were of some value after all,” Sephiroth says sardonically. 

“You say that, but you’ve clearly inspired him.” 

“So I’ve been told. Multiple times, in fact, as though that in itself is enough to justify some sort of—friendship.” Sephiroth shakes his head. “Zack believes that spending time with him and Strife will ‘do me good’, whatever that means, and is doing his utmost to get me out of the office in order to do so.”

“Has he succeeded yet?” Lazard asks, mostly in jest, but the corner of Sephiroth’s mouth pulls into a half-smile.

“Once or twice.”

“Wow, I’m impressed.” Lazard doesn’t add that he’s genuinely surprised Zack’s been able to persuade Sephiroth out of his shell, nor that Sephiroth is offering this information at all when he’s usually a closed book.

“Zack’s latest _thing_ ,” Sephiroth laughs derisively, “is gradually introducing me to his friends in order to widen my social circle, which is, by his standards, subpar.”

“Then I’m glad he doesn’t know about mine,” Lazard says, puffing out a laugh of his own. “But, you know, it’s good that he’s looking out for you like that.”

Sephiroth gives him a doubtful look. “How so?”

“I think… that it’s very difficult for people in our position to maintain any semblance of a normal social life.” Lazard considers how Shinra’s Firsts have, rather depressingly, provided the majority of his own social interaction for months. No disrespect to them, they’re great men, just not exactly Lazard’s old university friends who can provide a break from all things related to Shinra.

But as far as Lazard knows Sephiroth doesn’t have anyone like that other than his fellow Firsts, so he continues, “Sometimes it’s impossible to escape the company and meet people outside of colleagues. But it’s important to remember that our colleagues are people, too, so if I was you? I’d stay open to Zack’s invitations. And if Strife wants to be friends with you, I’d be open to that, as well.”

“Strife is just a boy,” Sephiroth says dismissively, as though the very suggestion is out of the question. It’s a strangely kneejerk reaction considering the smile he’d given Strife so freely earlier, and Lazard wonders, briefly, where it’s come from.

“Perhaps,” he says thoughtfully. “We also sent you, Angeal and Genesis out to fight a war when you were about his age, so. ‘Boy’ might be doing Strife a disservice.”

Sephiroth goes quiet like he’s calculating a response to this. In truth, Lazard thinks it’s rather nice that Sephiroth has a young admirer, especially when Strife was so happy to see him. That sort of buoyancy is rare around Shinra these days.

As Sephiroth takes a breath, Lazard says, “At the end of the day he’s a young man training for SOLDIER, and I’ll be honest, it’s never a bad thing to keep company with people who like seeing you, Sephiroth. Just food for thought.”

Lazard is careful to keep his eyes ahead. There’s nothing once again except for the echoing of their footsteps, followed by a simple, “Noted. Thank you, Lazard.”

“There’s also the fact that the amount of annual leave you’re accruing is probably going to bite me in the ass at some point, so if you can find a way of taking some time off, or Zack asks you to hang out, consider doing so a favour to me. Even if it does mean you have to suffer through more of his—being Zack.”

There’s a note of fond amusement to it when Sephiroth says, “Understood,” this time.

They come to the end of the corridor, where they’re splitting off. Lazard checks his watch to make sure he’s on time for Reeve’s meeting. While holding up his wrist, he notices Sephiroth pausing at the mouth of the corridor, taking one last look down it where the cadets are disappearing at the other end. Something akin to consideration seems to pass over Sephiroth’s eyes before he turns and walks on.

Lazard wonders about that, too, and smiles as he heads over to Reeve’s office.


	3. Chapter 3

He isn’t in his office, he isn’t in the First Class lounge, and the VR training room is vacant. 

_Wonderful._

Genesis does not have time to waltz through all of Shinra to find out where Sephiroth is holed away polishing his sword, so on his way back to the elevators he grabs his handset and dials Sephiroth’s direct number. He picks up after an astounding five rings as opposed to the usual two, which is the second sign that something is amiss—the first being his lack of presence in all the areas one would expect it to be.

“Yes?” comes Sephiroth’s curt voice. 

“Ah, good evening to you too. Whereabouts are you?”

“Why is that relevant?”

“Because, my friend, I need to know where you are. I assumed you’d still be in your office.”

“My contracted hours are between seven and seventeen hundred, so I’m currently at home, off-duty,” Sephiroth says, as though this isn’t entirely out of character for him. 

“Since when are _you_ ever ‘off-duty’?”

After a beat, and with a lick of smugness which suggests he might even be _smiling_ , Sephiroth answers, “I have plans.” 

Genesis scoffs. Again?

“I thought Zack was supposed to be accompanying Angeal on the Kalm assignment from today?”

“He is.”

“... Right.” Genesis leans against the wall. If not himself and Angeal, or Zack and that silly boy they insist on keeping around, who else would Sephiroth be seeing?

“If that was all, then—”

“I’m afraid I’m phoning you because you may need to reconsider your plans,” Genesis tells him airily. “We have a situation developing outside headquarters. Some abomination from the labs which was on its way to disposal has reanimated and is probably going to destroy downtown Sector 5.”

“Then I will let you deal with it, as you are the elected on-call resource for this week which is dictated very clearly in our schedule.”

Genesis sets his jaw, reminding himself that he’s doing this against his better judgement and out of the kindness of his heart.

“Yes, well, I am on my _way_ to deal with it,” he pushes the button for the elevator, “but some troops have already been mobilised and the threat level is somewhat out of their depth.”

“I’m failing to understand why this is my problem,” Sephiroth says, an edge to it like he’s considering hanging up. The light blinks overhead indicating the elevator is on its way up, ticking past forty, forty one, forty two.

“It’s a Malboro, Sephiroth, one of _Hojo’s_ Malboro, and Heidegger had the ingenious idea of assigning it to a group of cadets as some sort of, I don’t know, public safety exercise.”

“... Which cadets?”

“Some who were already on duty from the SOLDIER Graduation Armament. Honestly, I have no _idea_ what the man was thinking when we have Seconds ready to go.”

The other end of the line goes palpably quiet.

“I was happy to head straight out there myself to put a stop to it when I realised that group might include Zack’s little sidekick. In his absence I felt it was best to inform you, given the three of you appear to be... friends.” Genesis’ nose wrinkles. “Strife _is_ part of the SGA, isn’t he?”

There’s the sound of vague but urgent movements—rustling leather, keys brushing on marble.

“Hello? Are you even—”

“Where are you.” It’s an order, not a question. The elevator doors open.

“On my way up,” Genesis sighs, swiping his personnel card to access the private floor at the top.

And, yes, there it is: Sephiroth hanging up on him, though his reaction isn’t entirely overblown. Genesis doesn’t need any attachment to Shinra’s infantrymen to understand how pig-headed it is for Heidegger to pull something like this while Lazard is in Junon. Any excuse for that power-hungry fool to abuse authority and he laps it up like swill.

Inside the elevator, Genesis pockets his phone and smooths a hand through his hair, studying his reflection in steel. He’s been peripherally aware of Sephiroth’s growing closeness with Zack and Strife based on how often he’s heard the two of them leaving Sephiroth’s apartment at ridiculous hours of the morning. Another indication, in retrospect, is the amount of times Sephiroth has declined dinner with Genesis and Angeal lately. Their old dynamic hasn’t quite been the same since he and Angeal became an item, so Genesis assumed Sephiroth’s distance was due to his feeling like a third wheel rather than through having other arrangements with his new friends. 

Genesis also assumed that that Strife boy was the third wheel of _their_ little friendship group, too. His only qualities appear to be his youthful body, pretty face, and the thoroughly exploitable sense of innocence about him judging by those cloying eyes Genesis has noticed every time Strife so much as looks Sephiroth’s way. Sephiroth has never expressed a sexual interest in or even so much as dated anyone before, as far as Genesis knows, so the boy’s adulation and childish crush seem rather below him. But there’s a first for everything, he supposes, and Sephiroth must at least _enjoy_ the way that silly boy looks at him. Why else would he bother indulging such cannon fodder with his company?

The elevator goes straight up to the First Class penthouse floor. Whatever the case, for something like this to happen—for Strife to be in danger—Genesis expected perhaps a degree of concern from Sephiroth but mostly exasperation, akin to finding the family dog vomiting something it shouldn’t have eaten over the carpet.

What Genesis was not expecting when the elevator doors open is the column of fire which approaches him.

“By the goddess, Sephiroth, there’s no need to look so—”

“Situation report,” Sephiroth barks, all raised hackles as he sweeps inside the elevator and punches the button for the ground floor. Genesis exhales amusement through his nose at the casual button down and dress pants he’s wearing underneath his imposing leather coat, but there’s a deep crease in his brow and the Masamune is gripped so tightly in Sephiroth’s bare hand the skin over his knuckles looks ready to split. Considering Sephiroth’s usual composure such an emotional display from him is… alarming. Genesis decides against making any further comment on his appearance.

“As I told you, it’s one of the Malboro specimens, though it might’ve mutated into something else by now.”

“Last sighting?”

“Approximately half a mile away from headquarters.”

“Damage thus far?”

“Probably some civilian collateral, at least.”

This information is insufficient based on Sephiroth’s continued questions and visible agitation, so Genesis recounts everything Heidegger begrudgingly told him over the phone about ten minutes ago. 

“What the _hell_ was Heidegger thinking,” Sephiroth hisses, with what is becoming an irrational amount of contempt. “This is a SOLDIER level incident which should’ve come straight to me. He knows this. He _knows_ this.”

“It was inevitable, if you ask me,” Genesis shrugs. “He was probably waiting precisely for this kind of situation. Lazard is away, you’re—unavailable. It’s something you should come to expect if you’re insistent on keeping to your contracted hours.”

“In Lazard’s absence I am Heidegger’s reporting superior and General,” Sephiroth states, unnecessarily raising his voice as if Genesis is the one who needs reminding. “Therefore it is I who should be contacted in the event of an emergency regardless of whether I’m on company time or not.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Sephiroth, they’re _infantrymen_.”

“Infantrymen to whom we have a duty of care, something which you clearly don’t understand.”

“What I don’t understand is where all of this hot air is coming from, because it strikes me the only infantryman you actually care about is Strife.”

”Believe it or not, Genesis, we’re _friends_ ,” Sephiroth grits out.

“Yes, and once we’ve cleaned whatever remains of him up off the pavement you’ll be able to go back to whatever it is you were…”

The subtle clench in Sephiroth’s jaw has Genesis trailing off.

“Wait, wait a minute. These ‘plans’ of yours.” He balks. “They were with Strife, weren’t they? You and him, you—you were seeing HIM tonight.”

“Not that it’s _any_ of your business, but—”

“It becomes my business when you’re like this over some nobody, Sephiroth.” Genesis laughs, countering his incensed glare with an amused frown. “If I didn’t know any better I’d almost think this boy was your lover based on this outrageous reaction.”

“Then it’s a good thing that you don’t know any better, isn’t it?” Sephiroth says, emphasising that this is a threat by bodily turning towards him. It’s unlike Sephiroth to be so easily baited, as though Genesis might have unearthed some modicum of truth. How interesting. 

“Why are you so upset? There’s nothing wrong with having a little boytoy to play around with,” Genesis purrs, grinning. “Strife certainly has the body for it, and your plans with him must have been _quite_ important given—”

“My plans with Cloud are none. Of your. Concern,” Sephiroth snarls, with such venom that Genesis flinches, “and this conversation is over, unless you’d like to _insist_ on testing my patience with more of your degrading comments and worthless assumptions about my personal life.”

“Goodness,” Genesis says, under the guise of being unfazed by the terrifying look Sephiroth has levelled at him. It’s the sort of look which tends to be reserved for Genesis whenever he’s managed to flay Sephiroth’s perfect skin by saying just the right thing, as is apparently the case now. Probably wise to drop the subject considering the enclosed space they’re in, though. “My apologies for overstepping. You know I only mean to tease.”

Sephiroth wrenches away from him and aims his glare at the elevator doors instead.

“Dispatch the recovery team and inform Heidegger that the Second Classes won’t be necessary,” he says, in some semblance of regaining his composure. “I will deal with Heidegger myself once we’ve recovered our men.”

“As you wish,” Genesis says mildly, reaching for his handset, again. 

The elevator doors ping open on the ground floor. Sephiroth’s footsteps break from a commanding stride through the foyer into a full on run before they’re even outside, and maybe it’s somewhat spiteful of him, but Genesis cannot fathom how Sephiroth is so concerned about this ‘friend’ that he’s literally running out of Shinra to go and rescue him. This is the sort of behaviour he’d expect if it was himself or Angeal in trouble, possibly even the puppy, but absolutely not for some boy Genesis doesn’t even know.

Following the smoke billowing into the sky has them weaving through a couple of side streets and towards the open square of Sector 5’s shopping district. As they approach, there’s a supermarket that’s completely iced over while a department store on the other side of the street is burning from top to bottom. Cobblestones paving the way are littered with debris from other partially-destroyed shops, which look as though they’ve been targeted indiscriminately because some buildings are untouched.

Groaning cadets and civilians lie amid the wreckage. A quick glance while running through tells Genesis they’ve been afflicted with paralysis or poisoning. The stench in the air is typical of a potent Bad Breath followed by several rounds of Bio, and in the center of it all is one of the biggest Malboro Genesis has ever seen, though it can’t really be called that anymore based on the grotesquely disfigured appendages growing out of its head. A short distance away from it, backlit by the flames of a nearby building, stands a lone figure with a sword, who drops it and crumples just as they breach the square.

“Cloud!” Sephiroth yells, but even though he’s running the Malboro is already that much closer, and as Strife’s body hits the floor it swings its gaping jaw at him.

In the time it takes Genesis to draw his sword Sephiroth has thrown a hand out and cast an explosive Megaflare. The resulting air pressure violently whips their hair and coats as it obliterates a chunk of the Malboro’s head, sending it flying backwards, away from Strife. The green glow from Sephiroth’s hand indicates he’s readying a Life but the Malboro is already rebalancing itself, screeching as it rounds on him instead.

Sephiroth dashes at it with an utterly excessive Octaslash. Genesis stops running, the hand clutching Rapier falling to his side. The Octaslash not only tears the Malboro to ribbons but carves up several buildings behind it as well, not that Sephiroth is even paying attention to the extra damage he’s caused, because he’s already whirling around and rushing over to Strife. After casting Life on the boy he drops to his knees—his _knees_ , for heaven’s sake, he’s supposed to be the _General_ —and gathers Strife’s limp body into his arms.

Well. Good to know he was needed after all, Genesis thinks, eyeing the pile of what used to be Specimen M-067 and all the destruction left in its wake. 

“Thah-thank fuck you guys came,” coughs a voice by Genesis’ foot. It belongs to a purple-skinned infantryman who’s pushed up out of some rubble onto his forearms. “Strife, he, he tried his best—wanted to protect us, but that thing was too much, sir.”

“Evidently,” Genesis grumbles, helping the man to his feet. 

He wasn’t one bit concerned about the bloody Malboro. Those sort of monsters are child’s play regardless of Hojo’s involvement in their upbringing. No, Genesis came here today for an opportunity to step in, take care of things himself, and assert that he’s every bit as heroic as the great Sephiroth is, even if he doesn’t need to show off how noble he is for the sake of _one boy_. 

It’s ludicrous. Genesis informed Sephiroth because he felt it was only fair for him to know that Zack’s friend was in trouble. He wasn’t supposed to just sweep in and save the day like this. Now it’s already over, and Genesis didn’t even get to _do_ anything. 

Using Esuna to clear the man’s poison, he perfunctorily steps through the surrounding rubble to check if anyone else is in dire need of assistance. Genesis decides to leave the recovery to the medics, seeing as that’s their job, and it doesn’t look like these people are dying anyway, just shaken and bruised.

“Hey Clarke,” someone beside him says, “did—did you _see_ Sephiroth just then?”

“Yeah, he tore that fucker to shreds,” replies whoever Genesis just helped up.

“Never thought we’d get to see him do that in person.”

“Wouldn’t wanna be on the other end of that sword, lemme tell ya.”

Genesis’ lip curls. There’s no glory in this menial gruntwork, none whatsoever, but Sephiroth hasn’t even so much as _looked_ at the other casualties and here they are all singing his praises.

“Excuse me, sir, do you know if Cloud’s okay?” comes a different and more worried voice behind him.

“I’m sure he will be,” Genesis says simply, looking over his shoulder at another cadet. “Tell me, did Strife really volunteer himself to tackle the Malboro alone?’

“He did, sir. He said he practiced against a bunch of VR monsters with, uh, Lieutenant Fair? And told us to evacuate civilians. We, um, we tried to help him, but then it started using ice beams and all these other crazy attacks and most of us got knocked back, sir.”

“I see.” Admirable, Genesis can concede, but incredibly foolish. “Gather those who can stand and assist those who can’t.”

“Yes, sir.”

Genesis leaves the cadet to it and turns to find Sephiroth walking back over, carrying Strife in his arms. The solemn anger shadowing his face says that if Heidegger was here right now he’d probably end up in a similarly spaghettified pile on top of the Malboro, and, honestly, Genesis is beginning to feel like an idiot for having wholly underestimated Sephiroth’s relationship with Strife, if it’s looking like he’s willing to _kill_ for him. 

“Well?” Genesis asks, gesturing at the bloodied ragdoll in his arms.

Sephiroth’s voice is emotionless when he says, “He’ll live,” but there’s still that look in his eyes, in dangerous brightness and slitted pupils, that says Sephiroth would sooner let Sector 5 burn to ash than have Strife all banged up like this. 

Genesis looks down his nose at Strife as they pass by. Hopefully he has some understanding of how lucky he is to be on the receiving end of this unbelievable devotion.Is this a favour to Zack, or something? Some misplaced sense of loyalty for him? They’ve fought in wars where Sephiroth was a cool cut figure of apathy in the midst of slaughtering hundreds. What’s so different, so special about Strife? Sephiroth has never had the capacity for this sort of sentiment before, yet his emotional attachment to the boy is inexplicable when he could have anyone he wanted, could do so much better than some weak runt from the barracks. 

Genesis doesn’t particularly want to hang around listening to grunt drivel, so as Sephiroth takes Strife further away from the congregation of cadets, he follows a few steps behind, messaging Heidegger a situation update along the way. Sephiroth sets Strife down by a nearby bank, kneeling beside him to prop his back against the wall. 

Strife’s head rolls where he’s struggling to retain consciousness. He’s in a very sorry state indeed, which is hardly surprising given his reckless attempt at protecting his squadmates. Split lip, torn uniform, darkened blood all over his face and matted in his hair. There are slash wounds over his arms and chest which have been cauterised by the Life but probably still severe enough that they’ll need mako-infused healing to prevent scarring. 

Pitiful. At least he isn’t dead or dying anymore, though Sephiroth seems insistent on staying with him regardless. He tugs his coat off where he’s kneeling, the button down shirt beneath it no longer crisp and white but ruined with a mixture of blood and Malboro ooze.

“I’ve told Heidegger he can expect a visit from you at some point regarding this mess,” Genesis says, mostly just to let Sephiroth know that he’s still here. 

“Thank you,” he says, and pulls his coat around Strife’s small shoulders.

“Thought you’d be a little too old to be playing with dolls,” Genesis mutters absently, watching Strife’s entire upper body sag beneath the weight of the pauldrons. 

Sephiroth goes perfectly still. For a second Genesis wonders if _he’s_ about to be on the receiving end of the Masamune when they’re both distracted by Strife making bleary sounds of consciousness.

“Nngh…”

“Cloud? Can you hear me?”

It’s an effort for Strife to even blink. He fidgets and grimaces as he tries to straighten up.

“Careful,” Sephiroth says, a curtain of hair spilling over his shoulder as he leans forward ready to catch him. Strife’s eyes open more, and then he jolts awake with a stricken look on his face.

“No,” Strife says, glancing around in panic, “the, the Malboro, where is—I couldn’t stop it, I thought I was—!”

“I have taken care of it,” Sephiroth says, a simple interjection which guides Strife’s fearful eyes back to him. As he realises who’s in front of him Strife’s erratic breathing slows and the fear melts into relief.

“Sephiroth?” Strife asks meekly, like he’s afraid he might just be seeing things. “You… you’re here?”

“Yes, I’m here.” Strife’s entire face brightens, and Sephiroth adds quietly, “You’re safe.”

Strife lets out a shaking breath. In what Genesis assumes to be an adrenaline fuelled rush he launches forward and slings his arms around Sephiroth’s shoulders, disappearing behind a silver veil when he buries his face in the crook of Sephiroth’s neck. Strife gives a muffled whimper into it, and Sephiroth freezes up, probably from being enveloped in this desperate attempt at a hug. 

Genesis has never seen anyone THIS happy to see Sephiroth before, but his eyebrows almost lift off his head when Sephiroth then decides to reciprocate, his arms rising mechanically before they wrap around Strife’s shivering torso and pull him into a deeper embrace. 

Genesis supposes he shouldn’t be shocked by anything at this point, but Sephiroth cuddling someone is definitely a first. He barely tolerates it when Zack insists on giving him one of those dreadful squeezes!

“I’m sorry,” Strife gasps out, pulling away just enough that he’s no longer hidden by Sephiroth’s hair. He’s shaking, and while Genesis can’t help thinking _here we go_ at the shine of unshed tears now glazing Strife’s eyes, they are admittedly somewhat—sweet. “I tried to stop it, that, the Malboro, but I wasn’t strong enough, nowhere near.”

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry about,” Sephiroth tells him, still speaking quietly where they’re so close. “This should have been assigned to the Seconds, not to you.” 

Strife winces against some strands of matted hair poking his eye. Sephiroth doesn’t hesitate to reach up and brush them away, his other hand still braced on Strife’s waist. Such a delicate and intimate touch looks alien coming from him, especially when they’re both spattered in gore, but Sephiroth repeats the motion a few more times than necessary to clear Strife’s line of vision, Strife’s eyes softening at him while he does. 

“Heidegger was mistaken in deciding this mission was anywhere near appropriate for you or any other cadets,” Sephiroth says darkly. “It’s a decision he will come to regret.”

“Shit, the others, are they—”

“They’re fine,” Genesis answers, abruptly enough to have Strife startled out of Sephiroth’s hold like he wasn’t aware Genesis was even there. “Your squadmates told me that you attempted to take on that hideous thing yourself in order to protect them.”

“Is this true?” Sephiroth asks, regarding Strife with a look somewhere between disapproval and amazement. Strife hesitates before offering a little nod.

“I tried to.”

“That’s the sort of bravery I’d expect from a SOLDIER, not a cadet,” Sephiroth says, the grim smile on his face suggesting he’d rather Strife hadn’t needed to demonstrate it in the first place. “You did extraordinarily well to come out here at all, tonight, so for you to have attempted such a fight on your own is remarkable.”

“That’s—um. Thank you, Sephiroth.” Strife glances nervously at Genesis before ducking his head. His cheeks flush as he balls his quivering hands in his lap. “I mean—sir, sorry, sir.”

“Please, Cloud, you know there’s no need for that.”

Sephiroth pulls on the lapels of his coat to keep it firmly wrapped around Strife’s chest, an attempt to mitigate Strife’s shaking, or maybe shield him from Genesis’ scrutiny. Strife shrinks in on himself anyway, and Genesis has no intention of leaving. Impolite as it is to stand here openly watching them he’s waiting to intercept the recovery team, and besides, he’s intrigued by Sephiroth exposing this unseen side of himself with Strife. The way they speak to each other, and all these comforting, protective gestures… Genesis can only surmise he’s somehow learned this sort of affection from Zack. Genesis and Angeal have certainly never been privy to it.

“You should hold your head high for being so brave,” Sephiroth says, as if coaxing Strife to do so. He doesn’t.

“I don’t think I was brave,” Strife says, in this shivering little voice which he probably thinks Genesis can’t hear. “I thought I was gonna die.” 

“I would never allow that to happen.”

Strife’s face creases up.

“Come on, Sephiroth, I should be stronger than this by now,” he says, half sobbing. “It’s been two years, I shouldn’t need to depend on you, or—or anybody else. How will I get into SOLDIER if I can’t even—”

“Stop, Cloud. Listen to me.” Sephiroth lowers his head like he’s trying to catch Strife’s eye. Strife continues to avoid him by grimacing at his lap. “You’re learning, and growing, and getting stronger, every day. This was a monster beyond the Thirds and would’ve probably required Genesis’ intervention even for the Seconds. I’m proud of you for displaying such selflessness for the sake of your comrades, and I don’t doubt for a moment that you’ll be fighting alongside Zack and I very soon.” 

Sephiroth tips Strife’s face until he's timidly peering up at him through his bangs.

“Until then, I will always be here to protect you,” Sephiroth says, hushed but deeply serious. “Do you understand?”

Genesis watches the bob of Strife’s adam’s apple as he swallows. He looks hopeful more than timid now, though it’s barely audible when he says, “I think so.”

Sephiroth tilts his chin in assessment, all gentle concern where he’s normally so hard and cold. He can’t seem to keep his hands off the boy. Holding his waist, touching his chin. It goes far beyond those useless trauma management courses Shinra provided before Wutai, and has Genesis feeling like he’s in a scene from LOVELESS rather than a battlefield outside Shinra’s headquarters. The thought of Sephiroth paying more attention in the theatre than he let on has a minute smile pulling at Genesis’ lips, though.

“It’s bad enough that you’re like this,” Sephiroth says, still assessing him. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

“I… uh,” is all Strife says, like his brain has stopped working. Genesis can practically feel Strife’s heart beating from where he’s standing, the adoration in his eyes blatant for all to see, and even if he has nothing else to offer, Genesis has to respect the fact that Strife isn’t afraid to show Sephiroth that he clearly thinks the world of him.

“The Life I cast on you is an emergency measure which provides provisional healing,” Sephiroth explains, apparently too focused on Strife’s wellbeing to notice. “Your poisoning has been cured and you’re conscious, but you’ll need to be properly assessed by the medical team.” He repositions his hands on Strife’s shoulders, and murmurs as an aside to himself, “I should have prevented this from happening at all.”

“No, please, it’s—I can’t believe you even came,” Strife says, bleating out a disbelieving laugh. “You really... came here, and saved us. Saved _me._ ”

“There was no question that I would.” Sephiroth frowns like Strife should know this, though it softens when he says, “Zack would never forgive me, if I hadn’t. Nor would I have forgiven myself.”

He reaches out to brush more hair out of Strife’s glistening eyes before cupping his face, smoothing his bare thumb over the curve of Strife’s cheek, and—

Oh. Genesis brings the pads of his fingers to his lips, suddenly reminded of the way Angeal touches his face just before they kiss. From the outside, it looks like Sephiroth is contemplating doing the same thing.

“Sephiroth,” Strife says, almost whispering it, as though he might break if he speaks any louder. He searches Sephiroth’s eyes like he’s waiting, willing. Pleading.

Sephiroth leans in, slightly. Hesitates. 

Then he seems to change his mind, pulling the lapels of his coat again to keep Strife swathed in it, before letting go of him completely and folding his hands in his own lap.

“I left as soon as Genesis briefed me on the situation,” Sephiroth says, with the same firm tone he used earlier, like he’s reminding himself of his position. Strife wilts at it. “Escaped specimens are always classified as severe incidents and should be managed as such. I will escalate the mismanagement of this case to Lazard and ensure it won’t happen again.”

Ah. And thus the scene is over and it’s back to business, Genesis thinks, probably more disappointed by this than he should be. It was quite compelling while it lasted. 

He’s about to reach for his phone when the sound of multiple and hurried footsteps on cobblestone draw his attention. The recovery team has finally arrived, and Pond, their lead paramedic, is beelining towards them. The civilians should have priority so Genesis breezes past Sephiroth and Strife to intercept her before she can interrupt them. He’s seen enough to sate his curiosity, anyway.

While explaining the nature of healing required from Pond’s team and guiding them towards the civilians, Genesis does find himself wondering why in the world Sephiroth didn’t just kiss the boy, though. He could have, easily, and it appeared obvious that he wanted to.

Would he, if Genesis hadn’t been there? Perhaps. Somehow he suspects there’s more to it than Sephiroth getting stage fright judging from how quick he was to change his tone, as he didn’t have an issue showering Strife with affection even while Genesis was standing right there watching them. He still can’t say he fully understands why _Strife_ is the one bringing all of this out of him, but it was surprisingly nice to see his dear friend on the receiving end of Strife’s simpering looks, at least.

After a couple of minutes assisting Pond something that sounds awfully like a chuckle coming from Sephiroth has Genesis frowning. He edges away from Pond’s team rushing around all the injured and peeks back around the corner, where Sephiroth is still kneeling with Strife. 

“... could say I ended up being early, in a way, as I believe we had arranged to meet at eight,” he’s saying. 

Genesis immediately allows himself another minute of spying and presses himself to the wall, squinting at them.

“Oh… right,” Strife says, despondently. “Guess this means we can’t, um. Tonight. Could we… do you think we could raincheck, maybe?”

“There are less dangerous ways of telling me you wished to cancel,” Sephiroth says in gentle humour, “but yes, of course we can reschedule.”

Strife’s face pales.

“I swear,” he blurts out, frantically grabbing Sephiroth’s hands, “I’d never—I didn’t want to cancel!”

“Ah… yes, I know you didn’t,” Sephiroth says, blinking in surprise. “Apologies, that was an inappropriate attempt at levity.”

“Levity? I don’t—I mean I get that you were joking but I would never cancel on you, Sephiroth. Ever. I like it when it’s just the two of us.” 

Strife seems to have flustered himself with this statement from how quickly he releases Sephiroth’s hands. 

“I—I like it when Zack’s with us too, obviously! But it’s, I, um.” Strife laughs nervously, and his voice is small when he says, “I still don’t know why you’d even want to hang out with me, to be honest.”

Sephiroth makes a rueful sound. 

“Funnily enough, I sometimes question why you would ever choose to see me of your own volition without Zack to keep you entertained, too,” he says.

Genesis sputters, having never thought he’d hear such insecure nonsense from Sephiroth, and it’s a relief to watch Strife blink like he’s confused by it as well. Then he manages a fuller laugh, something which has the corners of his eyes crinkling and Sephiroth leaning forward inquisitively.

“What?”

“Jeez, Sephiroth, that’s.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, but—that’s stupid. Really stupid.”

“Oh, it is, is it?” Sephiroth says, all dry amusement that’s betrayed by a soft smile and even softer eyes, and maybe it’s because he’s been so focused on the boy all this time, but Genesis can’t believe it’s taken until now for him to notice the way that Sephiroth is looking at Strife—the way that Sephiroth _looks_ at Strife.

“Yeah,” Strife chuckles, “it is,” and Genesis can read the rest of what he isn’t saying in his embarrassed smile and the blush which has reached his ears. Although Sephiroth offers nothing more than a curious hum to this he’s still giving him that look, that _look_.

Something in Genesis’ throat tightens at it. He never thought he’d see the day—didn’t think the man was even _capable_ of it—but it’s right there, plain to see on Sephiroth’s face. It even has a particular line from Act III coming to mind. _My friend, your desire, is the bringer of life, the gift of the goddess…_

“Sir,” Pond says with urgency behind him. Genesis sighs, extracting himself from the wall. Just as he was getting into it, too. Typical.

“Yes, yes, I’m here,” he says, turning around to her. He’ll just have to wait to see how the rest of their play will unfold, because for now it looks like he _is_ needed here, after all.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! I'm new to this fandom and it's managed to completely take over my life, whoops. Please come find me at [twitter](https://twitter.com/angelgotchi) where my thirst for Sephiroth is frankly unquenchable right now.
> 
> Also, there's porn coming from the next chapter so the rating for this will be going up.


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